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Wednesday, September 22, 2010

At the Peacock Lake

Jinju S.M.A. English

The glassy blue of the fallen sky,Creased with myriad ripplesThat bound forthTo the waiting arms of the shore,Like little children to their mothers,Singing of peacocks and wild windsThat make the reeds, thickly spreadBy the water's edge,Dance in beauteous glee-A wave of gold-tipped green.

And into my heart ecstasy drips,Till I can swim in it-Lake of bliss.

Night

The night speaksIn a thousand tonguesI cannot discern,Rising above the cries of the crickets-Midnight's minstrels.Pale blue melting aroundFeathery canopies reachingFor a trembling dawn. Muted roars pulsatingIn the night breezeCharged with the coldAnd peacock squawks.And the swarthy goddessLets down her hairAnd dances in a frenzy, Punctuated with laughterIn a tongue I recognize-Cold, hard, mirthless mockery.